Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3)

by Berardinelli, James

  “General,” said Justin. “How would you like to sit on the throne of Vantok when I take the army north?”

  Gerthak’s frown was all the answer Justin needed. “Beggin’ Yer Magus’ pardon, I’d prefer to lead the men and I think that’s where you’d want me. Any fool can sit on a throne. Takes one as me to win a battle.”

  Justin didn’t take the insult personally. Gerthak wasn’t clever enough to have meant it as a barb. “As I thought - just wanted to make sure. Actually, you probably won’t be needed for Basingham. Its rulers are weak willed and, once word spreads of what transpired here and they see an army approaching, they’ll stumble over themselves surrendering. The sight of seven or eight thousand men, elven djinn, and a dragon marching toward his gates will be enough to cause King Durth to shit himself.”

  “Spineless,” spat Gerthak. “At least the worms here fought. They lost and died, but they fought.” His tone betrayed his disappointment that magical intervention had cut short a glorious battle. Men like Gerthak wanted to fight to the last drop of blood.

  “My concern is that they submit. I don’t care how. If they want to die fighting, that’s fine. If they want to open their gates and let me walk through, that’s fine as well. If you want a struggle, you won’t get it at Basingham. Or Earlford. Or Syre. But then comes Obis.”

  Gerthak grinned when Justin mentioned the battle capital of the North. “When we get there, that’ll be a battle for the ages. I’ll enjoy tearin’ down that great wall stone by stone.”

  Justin considered such an eventuality to be unlikely. Instead, he’d let the djinn and dragon tear apart the walls. Gerthak would get to test his skills against Obis’ vaunted militia. The relatively easy victory at Vantok hadn’t infected The Lord of Fire with overconfidence. Even with its leadership in crisis, Obis would be difficult. And he would need more soldiers than were currently in his army.

  “General, the time has come to prepare the men for the next phase of the war. I expect drills to intensify. Laxity is to be punished as severely as before we marched on Vantok. I intend to send an emissary to Basingham tomorrow. Soon after that, we’ll march. Regardless of whether blood is to be shed in the city of my birth, I want this army battle ready.”

  Was that where The Lord of Earth and The Lady of Water had gone to ground? Were they hiding in Basingham, or had they gone elsewhere to lick their wounds? One thing was almost certain - the pretender queen, Myselene, was a welcome guest at King Durth’s court. For how much longer, he wondered.

  Shortly after Gerthak left, Justin summoned one of the djinn. It floated silently and impassively in front of him, head bowed in a gesture of submission. Justin had won their loyalty by defeating their king in single combat. The efreet’s destruction at Sorial’s hands had produced no discernible effect on their servitude. Only Justin’s death would sever that bond.

  “I have a mission for you,” said the wizard. “I need you to travel to the city of Basingham. Don’t enter it. Ignite a fire that I can use to monitor what happens. Remain outside the front gates and inform them you come as an emissary of Justin, Lord of Fire and king of Vantok, offering terms of surrender.” He then issued a list of non-negotiable demands. “If they accept, you need do nothing more than return to me. If they refuse, level the gate and kill as many as you can without endangering yourself or proceeding into the city. Most likely, they will ask for time to consider. In that case, destroy the gate but avoid killing anyone who doesn’t directly interfere.

  “Seek for traces of four people: The Lord of Earth; The Lady of Water; Myselene, pretender queen of Vantok; and Prelate Ferguson.” He conveyed images of the four through a mind-link with the djinn. “Now go and return as soon as possible so I know whether to prepare the army for battle or an occupation.”

  * * *

  Later that day, Justin spent several hours perusing the temple’s vast library. Many of the scrolls and tomes archived here couldn’t be found elsewhere on the continent but, for arcane matters, it was a meager repository. From his time spent as Ferguson’s apprentice in this very building, Justin was aware of what the library contained and, for advancing his capabilities as a wizard, it was inferior to the treasure trove represented by the faraway Yu’Tar collection. A part of him dearly wished he had the time and opportunity to return there but life had moved on. Still, there were things here that couldn’t be found there, chief amongst them being the stores of genealogical records utilized by Ferguson to plan the couplings necessary to produce likely wizards. With access to those, Justin was hopeful he could locate a promising future Lord of Earth or Lord of Water.

  Were there still living priests within the walls of the great building or down in the warren of tunnels and catacombs that spread from its lower levels like the roots of a great tree? Undoubtedly. Upon seizing Vantok, Justin had ordered the emptying of the temple. Hundreds of priests had been captured and killed but the lack of women and treasure within the holy building made it an unappealing target for pillaging. The Lord of Fire didn’t doubt that some of his former brethren survived in hiding. So, although this was a conquered and mostly desolate building, care had to be taken when exploring here alone. A knife to his back could kill him as easily as it could any normal man. Justin didn’t relax his guard.

  As expected, Ferguson had left nothing. The prelate might have brought the records with him but, more likely, he had committed the key names to memory and burned the written evidence. That was his way, the kind of thing the prelate would do since it enhanced his value. Ferguson loved to hoard secrets and information, knowing it made the price of killing him unacceptably high. If Justin was to gain the knowledge he sought, it would have to come directly from Ferguson. Another reason to push forward with his recently hatched scheme.

  “Lord of Fire.” The disembodied voice was unnaturally loud in the silence of the temple. Justin was so surprised he dropped the musty tome he had been thumbing through. Quickly recovering, he spun in a full circle, questing with all his senses - normal and supernatural - for the origin of the voice. He recognized it but only second-hand, having never met the man face-to-face. There was nothing. It radiated from the stone all around him. The chamber and the many corridors and rooms immediately beyond it were as empty as the grave.

  “Lord of Earth,” responded Justin cordially, ready to attack or defend if action proved necessary. Locating Sorial was impractical; the other wizard was using the rock as a conduit for his voice and might be speaking from as close as an underground pocket four feet beneath Justin’s feet or a far away as miles outside Vantok. When it came to communication, what Justin could do with fire, Sorial could do with earth. “You wish to converse? Now, when your failure cries from the graves of thousands?”

  “What do you seek?” asked Sorial’s voice, ignoring the taunt. An abstruse question but one that Justin intuitively understood.

  “If you have Ferguson, which I’m sure you do, you know the answer to that.”

  “The Otherverse.”

  “Eventually, yes. But there are more immediate goals that demand my attention. Eliminating you, for example. You and your wife. You may find this strange, but I bear you no personal ill will. You had the misfortune of stepping through a portal at an inopportune time, when the situation no longer afforded me the luxury of conveniently ignoring you. Tell me truthfully - if I had extended the hand of friendship in the wake of your transformation, would you have taken it?”

  There was a moment’s pause, as if Sorial was considering the question. “No. Not once I understood your goals.”

  Justin nodded as if expecting the response. “Then your sister was correct in dissuading me from recruiting you. Her mistake was trying to ‘convert’ you rather than killing you outright. One of a great many mistakes she made. Had she plunged a dagger into your heart rather than trying to convince you to turn against Ferguson, things would be different now.”

  “What will it take to end the bloodshed?”

  “That you ask means you don’t ful
ly comprehend the reasons for my campaign. There’s nothing you or anyone else can do to stop this. And just because a city surrenders doesn’t mean it won’t be sacked. There are forces at work you don’t comprehend, necessities that must be met.”

  “You think you know how to enter the Otherverse.” It wasn’t a question.

  Justin smiled. It was thin, unfriendly expression. “Think is as good a word as any. Or believe. There are no assurances and if I’m wrong then it will be up to others in my wake to try. Perhaps you, although I don’t expect you to live long enough. The Otherverse is the last great magical secret. To penetrate beyond that door, once glimpsed so tantalizing but not opened… Every wizard with a shard of greatness within him must seek it eventually.

  “But this is also about banding humanity together. I’m still a true believer, you see. I felt the dissolution of the gods; what Ferguson preaches is real. The gods are dead and, for us to survive, there must be a new order. While the prelate seeks to achieve this through manipulation and trickery that maintain his preeminence, I intend to impose it. The cities will be broken then united under one banner. You and your wife will be replaced by others who share my views.”

  “There are many who’ll try to stop you. The surprises you used to take Vantok won’t be as effective in future conflicts.”

  “True, so I will have to concoct new surprises. And if you were more of a threat, you would have already attacked rather than speaking like a phantom. The power of words on one such as me is overrated, Your Magus.”

  Justin’s last comments were met by silence. Sorial had withdrawn.

  The curious encounter left Justin feeling uneasy. Sorial’s purpose had been unclear. Had he been trying to open a dialogue, seeking a way to end the war, or fishing for information? At least Sorial’s visitation had answered one question: The Lord of Earth had survived the encounter with the efreet, although Justin had never assumed differently. Once, Justin had viewed the other wizard as an inconvenience. Now, it was evident that Sorial was a serious danger to his carefully formulated plans.

  A sudden convulsion of the ground nearly knocked Justin to the ground. Damn and blast! As unprepared as he had been for the attack, it was nevertheless easy to repel. The stone beneath his feet jumped then fragmented. Tiny chips from a shattered flagstone, none larger than a fingernail, exploded into the air, each traveling at a speed to rival a projectile expelled from a revolver. Justin used a hastily-erected shield of fire to incinerate them before they could cause damage to his frail body. He sensed there was more to the attack than a halfhearted attempt to injure him. Even a wizard of Sorial’s inexperience would recognize that such a clumsy assault couldn’t succeed. So what was the motive? Was it merely a warning or something more purposeful?

  As he departed the library, a smile creased Justin’s features. He had to admit it was energizing to be locked in a duel with someone who could boast a degree of cleverness. When it came to manipulation, Sorial was a babe compared to Ferguson but he was less of a novice than Justin would have expected from someone with his background and upbringing. In the end, however, no matter how much skill Sorial showed in deception and misdirection, he wouldn’t be an insurmountable obstacle. Experience and depth of knowledge counted for much in a clash of wizards and Justin had amassed two decades’ worth of those qualities to Sorial’s half-year. Still, the easiest path to defeat in a situation like this was carelessness. Justin couldn’t afford to let down his guard and he had to strike fast and hard. The sooner he rid himself of Sorial and Alicia, the better his chances of attaining the ultimate prize. It wasn’t an option; it was mandatory. With the current Lord of Earth and Lady of Water blocking his path, he couldn’t reach the Otherverse. Their elimination and replacement was as important as capturing the continent’s cities. That made Ferguson a key. It was time to do what he could to “recruit” his old master.

  CHAPTER TWO: THE EXILES

  Sorial, Lord of Earth and Chief Wizard for Vantok’s Queen-in-Exile, rose slowly and gracefully from the under the ground following his “meeting” with Justin. The hard-packed dirt upon which Queen Myselene’s tent was erected barely rippled as the naked young man emerged from it.

  At age 18, Sorial was well-developed and well-endowed, but his brief tenure as a wizard had already begun to affect his appearance. His bronzed skin was more rough and weathered than might be expected for one of his youth and worry lines crinkled the corners of his lively brown eyes. His dark hair, already showing hints of gray, was shaved close atop his head and on his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. The scars on his face and body were reminders of his years as a stableboy, the period of imprisonment and torture preceding his introduction to magic, and his recent battle with the efreet. His nose was misshapen as a result of childhood brawls and the workmanship of the late tyrant of Havenham, who had also sliced off his earlobes and several toes from his right foot. His most noticeable injuries were to his left arm, which ended just below the shoulder, and his left leg, which had been replaced beneath the knee by a stone prosthetic of his own devising. What few knew was that, as a payment for his accepting the mantle of The Lord of Earth, Sorial had given up his senses of smell and taste. Some pleasures of the flesh were therefore muted for him.

  Gathered awaiting Sorial’s return were the queen and her closest advisors: Sorial’s wife, Alicia, The Lady of Water; Chancellor Gorton; Overcommander Carannan, Alicia’s father; and Vice-Chancellor Ferguson, until recently the prelate of Vantok.

  The first thing Sorial noticed upon emerging was his wife’s expression of displeasure. She didn’t like him being naked in front of other women, especially if one of those women was Queen Myselene. She viewed Sorial’s body, especially the part of it between his legs, as her property and wasn’t pleased when other women, especially those as attractive as his liege, gave him an appraising look.

  She needn’t have worried; although Sorial acknowledged that Myselene was lovely with her long, dark hair, violet eyes, and ivory complexion, he preferred Alicia’s form and face. His wife had shoulder-length hair the color of spun gold that had lost little of its luster despite its recent deprivations. Her green eyes, portals into her mood, were her most astounding feature. Her tiny body was perfectly proportioned for one of her size. Sorial’s boyhood friend, Rexall, often commented on the smallness of her breasts but Sorial adored them.

  “Was it successful?” asked Myselene, not averting her gaze as Sorial casually retrieved his clothing and dressed.

  “Successful in that I was able to confound him and get a feel for his magical signature. He won’t be able to fool us again, at least not the way he did last time.” During the Battle of Vantok, the efreet had impersonated Justin in a successful attempt to lure Sorial away from the city. The second part of The Lord of Fire’s plan, for the efreet to kill Sorial, hadn’t worked; Sorial had instead discovered and exploited the creature’s weakness.

  “How is the city?” asked Carannan. A handsome man in his early forties, the former duke, now the senior military man in Myselene’s depleted army, looked bulky in full plate armor. He had recently shaved both head and face as was common among high-ranking officers. His resemblance to Alicia was minimal but they shared the same fiery green eyes; her looks were inherited in equal parts from his wife and sister.

  “The entire peasants’ quarter has been burned to the ground, and parts of the nobles’ sections. The palace and temple appear largely untouched and Warburm will be glad to hear that The Wayfarer’s Comfort stands, although I can’t vouch for its condition. It ain’t as we feared; the city hasn’t been razed.”

  “Then The Lord of Fire plans to re-inhabit it. He thinks not just of destruction.” The speaker was Ferguson, the most controversial member of the queen’s small council. Approaching a full century of life, the former prelate looked younger than his age, but had lost much of the vigor evident in his manner before Sorial had ordered him arrested a half-year ago. His flowing white locks had been shorn as had his glorious beard, revealin
g a pruned and wrinkled visage. He wore the gray robe of the penitent but there was nothing humble about his attitude. He had been elevated to his current position over Sorial’s objections; Myselene had argued that his knowledge and counsel were worth an official title. Technically, he was no longer under arrest although his movements were shadowed by one of Carannan’s men. Ferguson was valued but not trusted.

  Much to his dismay, Sorial was forced to agree with Ferguson’s assessment. “Despite the violence of his attack, he’s treated the city as one might expect from an occupier. If we plan to retake the city…”

  “When we plan to retake the city,” said Myselene, emphasizing the correction. “I agree it’s not practical at the moment, but my entire life - if it takes that long - will be devoted to that goal. Azarak’s city will be returned to his line. A usurper won’t sit comfortably on that throne.”

  “Other concerns must be addressed first,” said Chancellor Gorton, running a hand through his normally perfectly coiffed mane of gray-streaked black hair. His dark eyes briefly passed over everyone in the room, lingering the longest on Ferguson as if assessing whether the man could be trusted with privileged information, before continuing. “Retaking Vantok may be seen as an ultimate objective. But to do so, we must stop The Lord of Fire’s advance and raise a new army. Neither will be easy but the first step might be for Your Majesty to press her claim in Obis. As the only surviving issue of King Rangarak, your decision to pursue the throne would garner immediate support and, if you arrived accompanied by two wizards, some who would otherwise challenge you might step aside.”